


Christine Palmer's patented Relationship Guide with Ghosts

by BearlyMadeIt



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ashes Scene in Avengers: Infinity War Part 1, Astral Projection, Attempted Seduction, Awkwardness, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Feelings, Flashbacks, Fluff, Ghosts, Humor, Love, Memories, Panic, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Romance, Sad, kinda 5+1 story, relationship guide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyMadeIt/pseuds/BearlyMadeIt
Summary: "I'm not technically dead." Stephen stated while floating a few inches above the mattress."You know, having no body is the definition of being dead." Christine retorted.ORWhat not to do, if you are leading a relationship with a dead person. In 5+1 simple steps.





	1. Rule Number 1

**Rule # 1: Don’t freak out and hit your ghost with something, if it does eventually turn up. Ghosts can’t feel anything per se, but they’ll surely get annoyed by it.**

The moment her patient turned to ashes below her hands, Christine knew something terrible had happened. In shock and disbelief, she stared at the pile of dust, which had been a living, breathing human a few seconds earlier. She had felt him turn from flesh to crumbling dust below her fingers. She had felt... Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself down. Raising her eyes, she watched in horror, how her two colleagues went grey and grumbled. She could watch them dying. First the hand, then the arm and suddenly, the body was gone. Pieces of ash floating down to the ground. Based on their shocked expressions, they knew that something happened to them. She stared down at her own trembling hands, her heart hammering, and waited to turn to dust herself.

After a few minutes passed and she was still a breathing human being and no pile of dust, she felt herself sigh in relief. She wouldn’t die today, wouldn’t she?

The second that thought entered her mind, another joined the club, which made her belly clench and turned her legs to jelly. Sinking to her knees, a terrible certainty grabbed hold of her heart. Stephen. He would be right in the middle of whatever had happened, right? With his name at the center of her mind, she scrambled back onto her legs and fled from the OR.

Entering the hospital corridor made her stop. Staring around, she realized just how many people were gone. When she was called to the operation the place was buzzing with life. Now, a cold silence gripped the corridor. She could see piles of ashes in wheelchairs were patients had been moments ago. Where colleagues had been. Turning, she didn’t allow herself to think about it. About any of it. She couldn’t. Until she knew otherwise, Stephen was still alive. He had to be. Even though she knew through the burning, throbbing pain in her chest that he wasn’t. Running for her locker, she saw how many colleagues had had the same idea. They were standing around, frantically trying to reach their loved ones. She was envying those, who were leaning against a wall, laughing, crying, talking with whoever they had called first. The relief on their faces. What she would give for that feeling. What she would give for Stephen answering his phone and scolding her gently.

“What?” he would ask. “You didn’t expect me to die, did you?”

Grabbing her phone, she dialed his number. Waiting for the calling sound, her throat clenched, her heart aching. It never came. Her call went straight to voicemail. Stephens cocky voice greeted her, telling her he was probably lost in another dimension and she should try again later.

She was with him when he spoke that message onto his voicemail. She had teased him with being a wizard now, he needed a wizzardy message to tell any calling soul, that he wasn’t reachable right now. He had groaned, told her again that “I am no wizard.” sat up and grabbed his phone. Holding it in his trembling hand, he remained sitting on the edge of the bed, not moving. She had used the moment to marvel his naked back, before she had raised herself to a sitting position, moving closer to him. Letting her hands run along his back, she enjoyed the feeling of his skin against hers. Her fingers ran along his side, before they turned to his front, gently caressing his abs. By now, she was sitting behind him, leaning her bare front against his back for a moment, just to tease him even more. Leaning away, she kissed his neck gently before mocking him even further.

“Of course, you are no wizard. You open portals to other places, to and from other dimensions, have an energy whiplash, shields and a fucking flying cloak.”

Her eyes had gone to his cloak, which floated in the corner of his room.

“Nope. You are no wizard. Still just a cult member.”

She continued her mocking, earning a barking laugh from him.

He turned his head, stealing a soft kiss from her lips before his eyes went back to his phone. He emitted annoyed sounds, when she continued to press kisses along his neck and shoulders, obviously distracting him.

She stopped, when he finally raised his phone, speaking his message.

“Hello, here is Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer” he had stressed the sorcerer “Supreme of earth. If you don’t reach me, I am probably lost in another dimension. I’ll call you back as soon as I have phone reception again if it’s important. Else please call again later.”

After he had recorded his message, he put his phone away, turning around and watched her.

A moment later, he had pinned her onto the bed, hovering above her, his trembling hands gently holding her arms down.

“You are quite an annoying distraction, you know that?” he asked with a playful tone, smiling gently. She had returned his smile. How much the tone could change words. If he would be angry, screaming, those very same words would have hurt her badly. Like that though, they were sweet nothings whispered in the night.

“What? Didn’t your cult train you on how to concentrate better?” she asked, mocking him again. She simply couldn’t stop!

He snorted, still smiling. “I think you are spending too much time with me. You get all cocky.” He stated playfully, eyeing her.

She tilted her head ever so slightly. “I spending too much time with you? I’d assume that to be impossible. You are always in cult meetings, traveling around the world. You are barely here.”

Once again, he snorted, shaking his head. “Am I really that bad?" he asked in an even tone. She remembered that he had been smiling, though. Else she would probably have answered differently.

Like that, still caught up in their playful banter, she had imitated that arrogant tone of his, which he always used to point out something really obvious.

“Eh, yes? You can’t lead a relationship if your ‘partner’ constantly hangs around in different time-zones.”

His smile had vanished with her words. He let go of her arms and sat up straight, looking at her. Within her head, she scolded herself. She shouldn’t have said that. Them being that much apart was a touchy subject between them, always brought up (by her) earlier or later, and always ended in a fight. She just wanted to sit up and apologize, the playful atmosphere from earlier already exchanged by a tense one, when he decided to turn it back. A gentle smile had found its way onto his lips. He bent down, entwining their fingers and ghosted a kiss against her ear.

“If this is indeed true, this cult member has to show you, how much it loves you.” He stated in a low and soft voice.

She barely felt, how he started to trail kisses along her neck and beyond. Her heart had skipped a few beats with his words. Her mind was far, far away. All foggy. There was nothing but pure joy and contentment. And then, all of a sudden, reality caught her again. Her thrumming heart, his lips and fingers everywhere. Shivers running along her body. He had never said, that he loved her.

Hearing his words, this silly stupid voicemail, she knew that he was dead. She knew it. It wasn’t a mere thought. It was a certainty. Like breathing. Stephen was dead. Crumbled to ashes like so many others.

With that knowledge erasing her entire being, every thought and hope and wish, she collapsed against the wall beside her, sinking down to the ground and started to sob hysterically. The world gone behind a veil of tears. Stephen was dead.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Legs pulled towards her chest, her arms hugging her knees and her head leaning against the wall, tears running freely from her eyes. Every now and then, her body trembled with a sob. She was alive. But for what? She had lost the one person, she held most dear. The one she had thought, she would grow old with. The one, she had truly and unconditionally loved, despite who he was and what he had done to her.

Claire, her best friend, brought her back to reality. She gently shook her by her shoulder, waiting until Christine not only looked at her but saw her.

“Hey.” Claire said gently and handed her a cup of tea. Taking a sip, Christine tried to calm down, controlling her breathing.

“You didn’t reach him?” her friend asked gently. She only nodded in response. Claire smiled sadly. “Maybe... he just can’t call you right now.” She offered. Empty words. Both of them knew that.

“No. If he was still alive, he would have contacted me by now.” She felt, how tears dreaded to run down her cheeks again. Pulling herself together with a shivering sob, she looked at her friend.

“What about John?” she had a special someone too, after all.

Christine saw the answer before her friend started to talk. That short glimmer of relief, which she tried to hide out of courtesy for her.

“He is okay.” Claire stated.

Christine sat there, for a heartbeat daring to slip back into her sobbing, crying state of mind. If Claire could keep her John, why did fate, god or the universe take Stephen from her? It wasn’t fair.

Claire seemed to feel both, her anger and sadness. “Hey. Christine. Stay with me!” she said before Christine slipped away again.

Christine blinked against the upcoming tears, focusing her gaze on her.

“We have emergencies coming in. There have been a dozen car crashes, helicopters crashing into buildings and a few airplanes didn’t get into the air or safely back onto the ground. I need every helping hand.”

The horrific news forced her from her catatonic state of self-pity/destruction and into the here and now. She was a doctor. She had to help. Getting back on her feet, she wiped along her face, even though she knew the attempt of wiping her tears away was a futile one. Her eyes had to be red and swollen. Drinking the tea in one swift motion, she gave Claire a thin smile.

“Let’s go to work, then.”

Until late afternoon, all remaining staff at Metro General worked their ass off. Saving people. Losing people. Helping one another to stay sane. Christine felt as if within a war. One patient done and the next needed her attention. She had seen badly hurt people coming in, frantically trying to hold onto what remained of whoever it had been, who was now dust. So many broken souls, just like her.

After she finally left the hospital, even though she didn’t want to because as long as she was there she had work. And having work meant being busy. Being busy meant she couldn’t think. Not think about Stephen. Not think about what she could or wanted to do with what remained of her life.

Without paying any attention at all, her body brought her home. Her flat. For a second, she had feared to stand in front of the sanctum, when she had realized she had stopped moving, but without Stephen, nothing pulled her towards that place. She knew he was dead. Looking for him there would only make things worse. Entering her flat, she had to fight the urge down to look for him. In her living room, in her bedroom. Or search for his flying cloak, which was always somewhere close by. None of them were here. Just her home. Without Stephen, it seemed larger, colder and emptier all at the same time. Dropping her keys, she looked around. Everything was how she remembered it to be, everything was how she left it last night before she went to work. And yet, nothing was the same anymore. Apparently, half the world’s population had turned into dust. The love of her life among them.

Entering her bedroom, she felt her heart break all over again. Stephen had left his shirt here yesterday morning. He had slept at hers. Held her in his arms. They had kissed and cuddled and… in the morning, when he exchanged his ‘normal’ clothes for his ‘crazy’ clothes, he had tossed his shirt aside. She had eyed him, scolding him for not putting it in the washer. He had simply shrugged and claimed, he would do that when he came back this night. She had originally wanted to put the shirt away, but had been too lazy. And now… slowly walking towards the shirt as if it could jump to life (not unlikely when concerning Stephen’s clothes) she finally grabbed it. Feeling the soft texture below her fingertips... the very same texture she had last felt against her cheek, her head resting on his chest. His moving, breathing chest. The thrum of his heart in her ear. She felt tears well up in her eyes again. Stephen. A little more than a day ago they had been together.

One eternal second later, she had his shirt pressed against her face. It still smelled like him. Within one heartbeat, her tears ran freely and her body was shivering with sobs. She flung herself onto her bed, burying herself on the side he always used to sleep on and started to cry silently. The thin barricade, she had erected to be able to work, breaking away and opening gates to soul-tearing sadness. Stephen was gone. He was simply gone. From one second to the other. Dead. Just like that.

The next month passed as if within a dream. The first thing next morning, after she woke up and had gotten past the devastating pain of knowing that Stephen was dead, was searching for other Avenger-related survivors. She found Pepper Potts, Tony Stark’s… calling her had been awkward, to say the least. Yet, as soon she said who she was and how they somehow shared the same story, Pepper started to cry. Her joining in seconds later. On the same day, the two women met, sharing stories about those most loved (and now gone) in their lives. Both of them ranted how terrible it was to be have been together with a maniac who always wanted to save the world. It was freeing, in a way, to have someone to talk to.

A week in, she came home and found Stephen’s stuff, the stuff he had kept at the sanctum, at her place, with a note from Wong that he had believed she wanted to have it. He had been right on that. She had wanted it. Going through the few belongings, mostly clothes (which still smelled like him), notes, which were written in his trembling, broken handwriting he now called his own and books. She found his tablet but couldn’t remember the code to unlock it in her questionable state of mind. And then, worst of all, she found that stupid picture she hadn’t known he had kept. It had been taken over a year ago, back then when they had started dating again.

She had dragged him into one of those old-fashioned photo booths and puppy-eyed him into one good photo. He was resting his chin on her shoulder, holding her close. She was, forever, turning her head slightly to look at him. After that photo, he had spent about 30 minutes mocking her for her nostalgia for old things. Finally, having enough of him, she pointed out that he should be happy she was that nostalgic else she would have never said yes to that date. That had made him shut up.

She carefully stroked the frame, which held the image and placed it beside her own photo of them. A newer one. A more professional one. One without funny stories to tell. They had gone to a photograph. Looking at the two frames, she sighed deeply, feeling the old tears well up again. She knew, that this would be her life for a while now. Always fall apart, when she thought about him.

One week later, Tony Stark turned up again, together with a robotic alien woman. Tony Stark, of all people. She was with Pepper, when her bruised and ragged fiancé suddenly stood in the doorframe. Pepper, who had just wanted to launch into a story about Tony, stopped mid-sentence, jumped up and threw herself at him. Christine only watched. She was happy for her new friend. And then again, she hated no one more in this world than her. What had she done to deserve him coming back to her? Why wouldn’t Stephen come back to her? She would give everything she had ever owed to be in her stead. To hold Stephen now. Feel his body. Hear his voice. But life doesn’t work that way. She remained sitting there, watching an impossible reunion, and felt envy destroy her being.

About one week later once more, she finally decided to stop by the sanctum. To look for Wong, she told herself, knowing that it was a lie. She just wanted to be sure, that Stephen wouldn’t magically turn up there again. Like Tony Stark. This bastard. Pepper had asked her to stay when Tony wanted to talk about what had happened. When he had reached the part with “this idiotic moron giving him the time stone.” She had blanked out. Later, she was told she had tried to strike him down using one of the vases in the room as a weapon. She hadn’t talked with Pepper since.

Standing in front of Bleeker Street 177, she didn’t believe her eyes. The sanctum was gone. All there was, was a tattoo shop and a small grocery store. Stephen had, of course, told her, that the sanctum was guarded by illusion spells, but… not being able to see it anymore…

Whoever was the master of the sanctum now, or maybe they even had a new Sorcerer Supreme, obviously did not want noisy doctors running around in their realms. The spell had been changed or maybe she was pulled from the list of people who were allowed to see it or…

Standing there, in front of a tattoo shop and a small grocery store, she had a breakdown again. She had assumed the sanctum to be always there. She had assumed for magic to remain a part of her life. To gently remind her of Stephen forever. That simple, though, it was gone. Stripped from her. Losing magic, which had been such a huge part of his life, and involuntarily of hers too, felt like losing him all over again.

Finally, two months after Stephens death, she had somehow settled into her old life again. She was a doctor. Not the girlfriend of a magical cult member. Maybe, he had never been for her. That arrogant, annoying, lovely genius, who brought so much more joy into her life than she could ever have imagined. He had chosen his crazy, magic-filled life and shared it with her. But it had never been more. She wasn’t skilled in magic. She would never be a sorceress. All she was, was a doctor.

Her days were good. She worked. She was around friends, always keeping herself busy. The nights were terrible. She still snuggled into Stephens clothes, which, slowly, had lost their scent of him. Staring at the photos of them, she cried silently.

One night, trying to grab his photo of the two, she knocked it over and broke the frame. Oh, of course, that would happen to her. After she had taken care of the shards, she picked the photo up again, stroking it gently. Stroking him gently. What she would give for him being here. Sighing, she carefully placed the picture on her bedside table. She would have to buy a new frame for it.

“Christine?”

Stirring in her dreams, she smiled softly. She imagined his voice. This gentle, warm baritone she had loved so much. In the first days after he had been gone, she had searched through her media collection and gathered every picture, every video of him she could get her hands on. And then she had looked at the photos and watched the videos, very well aware that they would destroy her. That soon after his death, they only let her slide further into the abyss.

Hearing his voice now, in her dream, made her smile.

“Christine?” the voice sounded more urgent and a tad annoyed. That fit. Stephen was always so easy to annoy. Honestly, she had found her joy in upsetting him from time to time.

Her dream faded away. In the morning, when she stretched herself, she had all but forgotten it. She lay there in her bed, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t sad. She actually was happy, which was odd. Yet… she felt the warmth of the morning sun on her face. She would meet with Claire today for a coffee. The day would be good. The days were always good.

Rolling onto her side, she opened her eyes –

Her heart stopped. Her weirdly morning euphoria turned into sheer panic. She was seeing Stephen. She was seeing a glowing, transparent Stephen. He had his eyes closed but opened them when he realized he was watched.

“Finally awake?” he asked cheekily.

That was it. She was going nuts. Pressing her eyes together, she counted until ten. She was insane. She couldn’t allow herself to be crazy. She needed to be mentally stable to be able to work in her profession. She couldn’t dare to operate people if she imagined dead people. What if she imaged, that the patient moved during the operation? Great. She would kill him. She couldn’t… she…

Having counted until ten, she prayed that Stephen would be gone. That she wasn’t currently going insane. That she could keep her life, however shitty it was at the moment.

Opening her eyes, he was still there. Looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She knew that look. Is everything okay?

No. Nothing was ok. He was destroying what remained of her life.

Closing her eyes again, she grabbed the closest thing she could get her hands on, her pillow, and started to frantically hit the spot where she knew she imaged him to be. Please. Please, please, please, she begged, be gone. She wanted to keep her life. She would work things out from there.

“That’s kind of annoying.” His voice stated.

Oh god. He was still here. A strangled sob escaped her lips. That was it then. Daring to open her eyes, she saw him. He hadn’t moved a single inch, her pillow resting within him. She was insane.


	2. Rule number 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I made it! I finally came up with a chapter start I liked.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story :)

**Rule #2: Don't try to make out with a ghost. That ain't working**. **And it's awkward.**

 

Slowly, very slowly, Christine opened her eyes. The first, she saw, was Stephen's glowing hand in hers… surrounding hers… well, him holding her hand. Their fingers entwined. Raising her gaze, she looked at him. He just lay there, on the side of the bed he had always slept on, and watched her, his head propped on his pillow. Or above his pillow, if she wanted to be picky. His eyes were filled with sadness and love and… the gaze alone ripped her apart.

"Morning." She whispered lowly. A smile formed on his lips. Warm and gentle.

"Morning." He whispered back, even though there was no reason at all to whisper. They were alone in her bedroom, after all.

"You are real, right? I'm not crazy." She said softly, moving her fingers, watching how they passed through his glowing hand.

Her words elicited a chuckle from him. He started to move his fingers, letting them play with hers. If she wanted to, she could imagine his fingertips brush along her skin. It was tempting, really.

"Still not crazy. Still just astral projecting." He stated softly, his eyes glued to her face again.

She smiled. God, she really smiled. "Still can't believe it. That you are…" she moved one hand in an undefined gesture. "After all, you turned to ashes and all." Her voice trembled. Just the memory of him telling her that he was indeed dead, at the same time telling her that he wasn't dead. His body had crumbled to ashes, yes, but his soul had remained. Trapped within the soul stone.

She had only stared at him, that day when she first saw him. Wondering if she had gone mad at last. Then she had jumped to her feet and threw everything she could get her hands on at him, screaming at the top of her lungs that he should vanish at last.

"You don't want to throw that." He screamed at her, ripping her out of her madness. She stared at him, taken aback. How could that ghostly Stephen dare to scream… Then her gaze went to her hand. Yes. He was right. She didn't want to throw that. It was a small crystal eagle her grandma had gifted her ages ago. No. She really couldn't… placing it back onto the shelf she had emptied to throw stuff at him, she looked at him.

"You are dead." She stated. Maybe embracing the inevitable which she knew was true would make him disappear.

"No." he stated firmly, making her heart skip a beat and stare at him. He… No. Stop it Christine, stupid girl! She felt how tears started to run along her cheeks. That answer was just stupid useless hurtful wishful thinking. The answer she wanted to hear. The one true answer she wished for. She would give everything for that to be true. For him to be back. And yet, she couldn't. He was dead. She knew that. She was just about to tell that to this Stephen when he smiled softly.

God. That smile. Seeing him smiling again, made her thoughts come to a stop. If she allowed herself to listen to that madness just for a minute or two, would that be okay?

"I'm not dead, Christine." Her dead lover repeated, making her break all over again. Of course, he wasn't. He would say that. No. She couldn't listen to him. Listening to him was dangerous and deadly. His words would poison her mind until there was nothing left.

"Okay. Granted. I don't have a body. Yet, I'm still not dead."

Okay. Those words made her blink. He… didn't have a body?

"What… How… What do you mean?" she stammered together, dumbfounded.

Stephen sighed softly. "My body crumbled to ashes, but I am not dead. I'm trapped within the soul stone. Using astral projection to be here."

She stared at him. That was a really short sentence. Three statements. Just. Three. And yet, she couldn't wrap her head around it. He was and was not dead? How was that supposed to be…

"You remember the Eye of Agamotto, right?" he asked, seeing that he was losing her.

She couldn't do anything else but nod. Sure, she remembered the thing that could turn back time.

"You remember, what I told you about it being an Infinity Stone?" he asked again. She stared at him blankly. The… the stones… the six stones controlling the…

And then, she blinked. "You said the stones were…" she stopped. The stones.

"Someone gathered them. Used them to wipe out half the universe. Me too, obviously."

Him too. He… "Half the universe?" she repeated in a high voice, staring at him blankly. Her mind just couldn't catch up with his words.

He simply nodded. "All those people crumbling to ashes, that were the stones?" she asked slowly, staring at him. Suddenly, she wanted him to be real. It was that tempting to believe that crazy story. That he was… well, what exactly?

"What are you?" she asked again, staring at him.

"My soul is trapped within the Infinity Stone of soul. Apparently, I can astral project my way out of it. Don't ask me how it works. Just happened." He paused, looking at her. "And then I was here." He added softly, looking at her with that gaze that was only meant for her.

That gaze, which made her melt. Her heart beat faster, her body grew warmer, her legs turned to jelly and she sank to the ground, leaning against her bed.

Oh God.

He wasn't… well… completely dead. Not entirely. He was still around. And he had come back. For her. To her. The thought made her sob hysterically again. And laugh at the same time. She sat there for a while, leaning against her bed and switched between crying her eyes out and laughing like a maniac. She obviously had a mental breakdown.

Somewhen, she wasn't exactly sure when, he sat beside her and seemed to hug her, as good as he could with his glowing body. The gesture made her cry even worse before she finally started to calm down.

"You are real?" she asked again.

"Yes." He answered confidently.

"Just magic, yes? You being here, I mean. Just a cult thing?" she repeated, just to make sure.

She could see him roll his eyes at the cult thing. Yes. He was here. He was. Well. Not dead. And not alive.

"Oh my god, Stephen!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at him, trying to hug him and landed on her carpet. She stared at the ground for some long seconds, bursting into laughter. Yes. Astral projection. He didn't have any matter, idiot.

When she came home after meeting her friend, he wasn't there. He. Wasn't. There.

At that moment, and a few days after, she was sure she was insane. She had imagined it all. Stephen being trapped in an Infinity Stone. Her mind had gone to great lengths to make her believe in that crazy story, throwing things in only he would tell her. Yet, it had all just been a fabricated story. He was dead. Oh my god, he was dead.

And then, one evening, he popped up in front of her while she was treating a patient. She had stared at him, not moving, not even breathing. She started to imagine him again. Right in front of a patient. This would be it, then. There was no going back. She was insane. She should put the patient's record down and walk out of the room and out of the hospital right now. She was obviously unstable, imagining him on a come and go basis. Tomorrow she would see if some psychiatrists had made it. And how long their waiting lists were.

Stephen looked around, floated towards her and mocked the file she was holding.

She blinked at his behavior. God. That was obviously Stephen. She... she wouldn't imagine that, would she? Him mocking her? She would imagine him sweet and gentle and all, not the cocky bastard that he was. He had looked at her, obviously having seen the horror on her face.

"I'm still real, you know? Just a cult thing." She stood there, in front of a patient and fought against bursting into maniac cackling. If she started to laugh now, this was it. Instead, she finished her round, left the room and stopped to stare at Stephen, who floated past her through the wall.

"You are real?" she whispered, keeping her voice down. She couldn't be seen talking with herself.

"Sure." Stephen stated dryly. "Would your head make me do this?" and then she watched how he floated of and ghosted Nick for the rest of the day. It was that rough to not burst into laughter every time he saw those two. True. She wouldn't imagine that. She would imagine him doing other things. Only her stupid love would go and ghost Nick in the desperate attempt to make her smile.

From then on, every time when he appeared, she needed to hear it. That he was real. That she wasn't crazy.

"Well, what do you have to do today?" Stephen's voice made her blink and focus her gaze on him. Yes. Zoning out on her lover wasn't polite. Whether or not he was dead.

"Nothing, really. Wanted to go shopping and such." She hesitated, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Do you… do you want to come along?" Maybe they could have some fun together, even though one of them was closest to a ghost.

"Only if you don't try to talk with me." He stated dryly.

She giggled and nodded. "Okay. I'll do."

Entering her favorite mall, she watched how Stephen floated off to an electronic store, peeking into it. Joining him, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "We can go in if you want to."

"No talking with me." He simply responded while turning to look at her. "We first do what you wanted to do. Afterward, you'll get dragged around by your ghostly lover and buy me things I can't even touch right now."

She smirked. She knew he loved to mock the store personnel. Maybe she would do it, just for him.

Walking into her usual clothes shop, she instantly looked around for a new blouse. She needed something, but hell... she didn't know what exactly. Stephen, picking up on the clue, floated away from her. Some minutes later, she heard his voice. "How about this?" he yelled. Turning around to look at him, she saw the cloth he was touching move. It swung slowly on its hanger as if it had just been touched. Concerning he was the only customer beside her, he had to have... Her heart stopped for a second. He had touched something. Fucking hell, he had touched something! That was... that was... Joining him, she picked up the blouse. Yeah, definitely her style. Her lover knew what she could wear. On their way to a changing cabin, she saw a quite sexy bra. Well...

Picking it up, she entered the cabin. Getting rid of her own clothes, she tried the bra on. She smirked when she looked at herself in the mirror. This thing looked great. A black partly transparent piece, which accented her breasts nicely. Pulling on the blouse, she eyed herself in the mirror yet again. It really looked good. He had been right as usual, when it came to clothes for her. She wanted to call for him to move his dead ass in here but stopped herself at the last second. Opening the curtain which closed off the cabin, she looked around hastily. No one to be seen. "Get in here, Stephen." She whispered/hissed. He had leaned against the opposite wall, waiting for her. For a moment, she believed he would respond with "No talking, idiot." But instead, he did what she had asked. Floated to her into the cabin and eyed her blouse.

"You look good." He stated softly. Christine smirked. "Thanks." was her whispered response. Then, she slowly slipped out of the blouse, watching him while doing so. She could swear, she could feel his gaze on her. His eyes fixed to the bra she had picked. "I saw you touch the blouse... can you touch me too?" she asked, hope filling her words. Could he? He could obviously touch stuff, after all.

But he sighed softly, finally ripping his eyes away from her breasts. "I can't touch you." He said sadly, looking as much. "But... you touched the blouse." She said, feeling miserable. She had hoped... for what, really? Her plan had been to tease him, then it somehow turned into something else. Hope, that he could actually touch her. "You are alive. Your body is always moving, even if only subconsciously. You breathing. Your eyes moving from side to side, them closing. Your muscles twitching. I can, with some luck I don't completely understand, move inanimate objects, but never something living. The rules on astral projection are pretty odd." he shrugged, looking sad.

Then, he caught himself, gifting her a smile. "I do want to see that bra again, though. Fear you have to buy it now." A moment later there was a grin on his face. He lowered his ghostly head and... well, he kissed her breasts, as good as he could. Yet, seeing it, Christine's heartbeat accelerated and broke at the same time. If she wanted to, she could imagine feeling his lips. Even though, imagining him having body contact with her was pretty close to crazy again.

The next time he popped up, she was lounging on her bed, reading a book. She was only wearing underwear, a thong, and his favorite bra, her legs slightly apart. She had waited for him to come back. Maybe, if she made it interesting enough, he managed to touch her.

She could hear him clear his throat. Raising her eyes from her book, she smirked at him.

"I'm not crazy, right?" she launched into their usual conversation. It took a moment until he answered, his eyes glued to her basically naked body.

"No, still just astral projecting." He was silent for a moment, finally managing to look at her face. "Should I leave before your sex-date gets here? Could get pretty awkward otherwise."

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. As if she would have sex with anyone but him.

"Like what you see?" she asked teasingly instead. The way he stared at her was a definite yes. He liked very much what he saw. She let her voice drop. From teasing to seducing. "You could take a closer look."

He didn't move at first. Then he was on the bed beside her suddenly, his transparent fingers running along her naked thigh. Seeing his fingers on her skin, her heart skipped a beat, but in vain. There was no touch at all. They locked eyes for a second, the desire obvious in his gaze. Then he moved between her legs and ghosted unfeelable kisses along her thigh. When he reached the strap of her thong, his fingers played with it for a moment. Christine snapped for air when she felt it move.

"How did you...?"

"I want it gone." Stephen responded, with a tad of sadness and anger in his voice.

"Then... why can't you touch me?" she asked, love and desire and being desperate mixing in her voice.

Her love looked up at her. "I already told you. You are moving constantly."

Yes, but... "The strap moves with me, right? You could move it. Accordingly... you could... move my clothes?" Stephen stared at her for a long second. Then he moved up, cupping her bra-covered breasts. Christin didn't feel anything at first. Then there was a soft pressure. Barely there, but obviously there. She gasped for air, seeing how Stephen simply dropped through her. She blushed at it. When he didn't come back, her blush deepened. She lay here, wearing seductive clothes and waited for a ghost to pop up. How low was that?

She just got to her feet, planning to change into something less sexy, or better said put some clothes on, when Stephen floated through the ground of her flat, looking embarrassed.

"That. I'm sorry. I really am. I lost my concentration and..." he shook his head, letting his eyes trail along her body. He wanted her. He wanted her badly. From one second to the other, Christine felt miserable. He wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to feel his touch. This, seeing her like this, it was torture for him.

"I... I'll put something on and..." she rushed to say, but he cut her off.

"No. Please, no." His eyes roamed her again. For a second, she felt as if she could feel his gaze again. Full of desire and lust and love and sadness.

He settled on her bed, watching her walk back to him. She felt insecure all of a sudden. Terrible. Laughable.

She sat down beside him, looking at him. He returned her gaze, moving again. He straddled her, his un-touching hands running along her skin, lips she never felt trailing kisses along her stomach, up along her chest. She started to cry seeing it. She had been terrible, only thinking about herself. Never of him. Of course, seeing her like that would drive him crazy. She started to sob. The sound made him lean away and cup her face. At least she thought he was doing that. The world had gotten all blurry through her tears.

"I just… I miss you that much." She managed to say, looking at him. At his beautiful, glowing face. He smiled sadly and moved away.

"You go and put something on and then we talk?" She simply nodded and fled from her bedroom. When she came back, some 15 minutes later, she was wrapped in her bathrobe, her face freshly washed. He surely had heard her cry, but he had left her time to calm down.

"I'm sorry. This was…" but he only shook his head a no. Christine smiled in return. Right. It was okay. He understood why she had done it. She missed him like crazy. Just to feel his touch one last time. Seeing him was sweet and all, but it brought a different kind of torture along with it. A kind of torture she could not put into words. Sure, she could see and talk to him, and she felt guilty for wanting more. Yet… seeing him and not being able to touch him, not being able to hold him or be held by him. Not smell him, not feel him, no nothing. Just his faintly glowing body, taunting her.

Snuggling into her side of the bed, she looked at him, watched his calm face.

They talked for hours until she eventually fell asleep. When her alarm clock went off the next morning, his side of the bed was empty. He wasn't there anymore. For a brief second, she wondered if all of it might still be the imagination of her head. That she was that desperate and created all of it. Her invisible friend, quite literally. But no. It was a cult thing, she knew that. She wasn't crazy. It was just magic. He was using astral projection to be at her side.

Weeks later, Christine got home from a crazy shift at the hospital. One would expect, that with half the population of the (universe) city gone, things would get less crazy, but no. A skateboarding, teenager idiot had broken a vertebra and would never be able to walk again, an old lady wanted to convince her that she currently had a heart attack even though she had none and…

Shaking her head, Christine got rid of the memory. A hot shower. And then Netflix and chill. That sounded like a good plan.

She showered, long and excessive and thought about Stephen. First, she wondered when he would pop up again. Then, she wondered if he was mad at her because of her damn awkward seducing attempts. And then, with her soapy hands running along her body, she thought about the last time they had sex in a shower. It had been at his place because his shower was more spacious. She had leaned against the cool wall, watching him trail hot kisses all over her body. How he had looked, his face and hair and body all glistening wet. And his eyes… full of desire and love and…

Opening her eyes, she stared into Stephen's glowing ones. She screamed at the top of her lungs and flung her shampoo bottle at him, which simply hit the wall behind him and clattered to the ground.

"You. Fucking. Pervert!" she screamed at him, covering her private parts with her hands. He only smirked.

"You looked quite comfortable, didn't want to interrupt you." He said cheekily.

"Out of my shower! Now!" she screamed at him. To her surprise, he actually left.

"Hope you thought about me!" he yelled back from inside her bathroom.

"Of course, I did!"

Stephen watching her enjoying some alone time really wasn't something she had been keen on.

After she had finished showering, she picked up her shampoo bottle and left the shower. She toweled herself dry, whishing Stephen could help her, and slipped into her bathrobe again.

Entering her bedroom, she saw he lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Well. I did some thinking."

Oh, really, he had? She had her back to him, looking through her closet for something to wear. She had wanted to go for a shirt and some sweatpants, but with Stephen here now… Maybe…

"You know… I can make skin glow when I touch it." Yeah, she remembered that. He had done it only once when she patched him up after that stab wound. This black shirt looked quite nice. Maybe she should go for it.

"Christine? Turn around." She blinked, still holding the black shirt. She turned around with a questioning hum on her lips. He stood there, right in front of her. He had that cocky grin on his lips. That cocky grin which said "I am awesome! Praise me for it, woman." "I thought if I can make your skin glow…" he stepped closer, pressed his lips against hers and

She flinched away, staring at him. That was… that had been… Her heart was racing in surprise. That had… he just stood there, waiting for her to calm down. She gave him a tiny, little smile and stepped close again, kissing him. She felt warmth against her lips. Soft, gentle warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thank you all for the comments and kudos this little story got!
> 
> I'm sorry you had to wait that long. I'll try and see if I manage to write the next chapter sooner. At least, I know what it will be about, hehe.


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